Still On Sabbatical

This is day who-knows-what of a poorly planned and unadvertised sabbatical.  It has been nearly a week since I tuned into any broadcast news, either on the radio or television.  And it feels great.  This is like a vacation without the packing.  I really don’t give a damn.

Too many other things going on anyway.  I have my own things to sort out.  Who needs to know which country Michele Bachmann is a zany-eyed crazy about today?

I am also reflecting on what I want to do next.  Take this blog, for example.  Readers seem to prefer the non-political, sappy stuff I have been writing.  Maybe the Tour should turn more in that direction.  Personally, I think it needs more pictures of baby ducks.

Speaking of baby birds (I just mentioned baby ducks), I forgot that I had the “Wise Guys” photo. Everyone knows I am fond of owls.  The picture isn’t quite as clear as it should be, but then neither was I at the time.  The price tag blotting out Mommy Owl is there intentionally.  I meant to price check and shop around on eBay for comparisons.

It is an Enid Collins box bag and a friend of mine was quite fond of it.  I thought the bag was fun, too.  I almost bought the damn thing.  It really is quite nice.  There is a roadrunner box bag I found, too.  It has a less whimsical, edgier look that I liked.  There’s no need to be shopping for any fool bag, however, and I would look kinda silly if I were to start turning up around town with an Enid Collins Wise Guy box bag.

Of course I cannot pass up this opportunity to mention my screech owl.  After missing him for a few nights, he is back.  His soft call sounded a bit lonely however.  I felt a little lonely myself listening to him.  The owl’s call is quite soothing, nonetheless.  Very soft and musical.

And this morning the birds seemed a bit more distant.  The large tree outside my bedroom window didn’t seem to be filled with many singing birds that have awakened me on recent mornings.  One lone cardinal called out loudly from a nearby branch.  He too sounded lonely, as if calling out for a lost companion.  What a lousy way to start the day.

My day hasn’t started off so badly.  Mornings can be unpredictable for me.  Recently they have had a melancholy twinge to them, as if time is gaining momentum and getting ahead of things.  It doesn’t matter, though, the windows are still wide open and all around me are trees, the lake, and fresh air.  This distant hum of city life, too.  (I prefer the trees and fresh air.)  Mornings still feel fresh.

Alas, it is time to roll, though.  Gotta make something of the day.  Busy, busy.


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